Feet ambulate –
And for every green light –
Ten red follow.
And for every faded and tired whisper,
An angel dies and leaves behind a swollen shadow.
And though the writing was on the wall from the second you took a glimpse –
It is the passion for what remains to be embarked upon that fuels the fire,
Enough to astonish even the smallest person to walk away after being hit –
And the biggest enough to press fingers firmly in faces in the name of desire.
Even at times though it seems like living with the cards you’re dealt is living with honour –
Other times it is enough to feel discarded and untouched much sooner –
And though I say and do things without knowing how much they hurt,
I realise in a matter of seconds and would rather see your left eye-socket seeming against –
the visceral earth.
And for every broken bone and superficial train of thought –
I glare at a desolate sky and deem the clouds redundant,
Togetherness remains false but we still remain on course,
without each other we exist, but we don’t live, though at all times -
not at all relevant.
The End.
.
And for every green light –
Ten red follow.
And for every faded and tired whisper,
An angel dies and leaves behind a swollen shadow.
And though the writing was on the wall from the second you took a glimpse –
It is the passion for what remains to be embarked upon that fuels the fire,
Enough to astonish even the smallest person to walk away after being hit –
And the biggest enough to press fingers firmly in faces in the name of desire.
Even at times though it seems like living with the cards you’re dealt is living with honour –
Other times it is enough to feel discarded and untouched much sooner –
And though I say and do things without knowing how much they hurt,
I realise in a matter of seconds and would rather see your left eye-socket seeming against –
the visceral earth.
And for every broken bone and superficial train of thought –
I glare at a desolate sky and deem the clouds redundant,
Togetherness remains false but we still remain on course,
without each other we exist, but we don’t live, though at all times -
not at all relevant.
The End.
.

